All posts filed under: cake

well, that stinks

Hi, fellow dog-owners! A couple of helpful hints to share with you quickly. It’s spring and many of our sleepy woodland friends are becoming more active. If you live in a rural area, you may want to keep a few common household items collected and handy, in case your companion animal gets tangled up with one. If you just sat down to dinner and one dog is still outside, then yes, that was a skunk he was barking at. Here it comes. Like ten hundred million onions but not fresh ones. It’s more of a noise than a smell. As close as a smell gets to a noise. However you say ‘deafening,’ but for a stink. How little chance there is that the skunk sprayed in the yard but missed the dog makes the question basically not worth asking. Isn’t it fortunate that you remember that some brilliant samaritan pioneered a formula which combines hydrogen peroxide + dish soap + baking soda, and you have all the ingredients? Feel smug about that for a second. …



Here’s something that I love: a crabapple tree. Do I love the sight of a springtime crabapple tree in full bloom? Yes, I do. But this is not the source of my affection, if we are being entirely honest. Do I love crabapple jelly? I do not. This, my friends, this is why I love the crabapple tree. I can see a crabapple tree positively dripping with crabapples, the scarlet orbs so wantonly abundant and perfectly ripe that they drop to the ground at the slightest brush of breeze and I can think to myself: drop away, wee ruby orblettes! Rot and fester! Compost your bad little apple asses right into the ground! Nurture every passing rodent, cervid and insect with your moldering pulp and blessings on your path. Do I want your sweet great-granny’s recipe for pickled spiced crabapples or your neighbor’s instructions for a perfect crabapple kimchi so that I can learn to love this fruit? Most emphatically I testify to you that I do not. Stand down, all ye who possess affection …

gingerbread, moist and spicy from a raisin & a porpoise

payback time

Various pals of mine have recently obliged (or will shortly oblige) me by producing sweet little babies for me to play with.  I do like a baby. My own personal round chubby babies are now long lean motion machines, as will happen, and enjoyable in their own right, but even if you can catch them they are hard to carry around and blow raspberries on.  When I look at them, so big and full of ideas and complexities, I can still see the fuzzy-headed little dumplings they so recently were, but squinting is involved.  So I like to get my mitts on an actual baby when I can, to admire its soft, squooshy elbows and enjoy its simple equations.  Baby is grumpy?  Pick one: feed, change, rock, tickle.  Aahhh. I have a standing date with one particularly luscious baby, and it shocks her mother slightly that I am so willing to drop everything and hold her infant while she does the things that mothers of the teeny weeny long to do if only they had …